“Flight 627 to
I board the plane and get comfortable in my front row seat, seat 1A, courtesy of my unexpected tour guide, whom I ‘accidentally’ bumped into when I arrived in La Paz almost three weeks ago. As the flight attendant serves me my glass of ‘champagne’ I gaze out the window and try to make sense of everything that’s happened in the past month.
“Richard! What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were Bolivian”, I blurted out, a little incredulously, to which he answered that his mother (to the great disappointment of his father’s aristocratic ‘white European’ family) was Bolivian and that he had spent many childhood summers in the altiplano of his motherland.
“Are you here, to visit family?” I continued. “No, I am here on business, in fact if you’re interested I would love to show you around my country. Let me show you what
What was he talking about? Travel with him? Had he followed me here? Why couldn’t I get a moment’s peace! At the same time, I was a little curious and I felt that Richard would not settle for a no, no matter what excuse I would come up with.
“A tempting offer by your own account, why should I be tempted to accept you?” I retorted with a smile.
“Fair enough, but you won’t know until you try, and besides from the looks of that backpack, you don’t have any fixed plans, so why not give me chance? A few days is all I ask, if you’re not pleased you can go, what do you have to lose?”